into his jacket pocket. “It is rude to ignore your companions.”
“I have nothing to add to the conversation,” replied Sophie. “I have no opinion on Mr. and Mrs. Lammley’s economic situation or the state of the Forresters’ marriage.”
Allen guffawed. “That was ages ago, Silly Little Sophie. We were discussing the house party, which should be of paramount interest to you.”
Autumn had not taken hold and robbed the world of its summer warmth, yet a chill washed over Sophie at Allen’s declaration. Despite being wrapped in leather traveling gloves, her fingers were icicles, and Sophie rubbed at her hands to chase away the cold.
“I cannot imagine what you mean,” she said.
Allen and Mama leveled looks at her that told her they did not believe her words any more than she had.
“Are we discussing all the eligible young ladies for Allen?” Sophie gave her brother a coy smile.
“What need have I to be married?” replied Allen with a scoff. “Hugh and Louis are doing their best to populate the world with more Banfields, and with the annuity left to me by Great Aunt Margaret, I have no reason to shackle myself to a young lady.”
“You have been blessed, my boy,” said Mama with a smile for her son before giving her daughter a sad shake of her head. “Really, Sophie. For all your bookish ways, you do enjoy spouting nonsense.”
Harboring a love of reading hardly made her bookish, a bluestocking, or any of the other appellations people were so fond of bestowing upon her, though Sophie did not argue, for she took no offense at the designation. She only wished she deserved such a distinction. Curiosity alone did not a scholar make.
Allen and Mama began rambling on about the forthcoming house party with Papa adding a bit here and there. Slowly and silently, Sophie took in a lungful of air, letting it out in a long breath as she nodded at the appropriate moments.
A month at the Nelson’s home.
A full month.
Mama and Papa were fond of house parties, but they rarely extended beyond a sennight. A fortnight at the most. With the railroad crisscrossing across the countryside, it was no great difficulty to travel across counties, so few bothered with such lavish gatherings. Yet the Nelsons were eschewing modern convention to embrace the old, opulent ways—which did little for Sophie’s peace of mind concerning the forthcoming party.
She wondered if she would ever acclimate to the swirling dervish her parents lived, and though she did not wish to turn back the clock, life had been far simpler when she’d spent it at her governess’s knee, being too young for her family to drag her about in society.
Turning her face to the window, Sophie gazed out at the passing scene. The sun was high and full, warming the landscape to a glowing green. Though puffs of white dotted the blue, the light broke through in great golden shafts, brightening the world as though there were no impediments. Distant clouds promised rain, but for this moment, sunlight reigned.
While there was a uniformity to England’s landscape, there were distinct details to every county. At this speed, Sophie could not see the nuances that made this part of the countryside unique from the others, and she couldn’t wait for the opportunity to explore Essex in depth.
With the first class carriage at the rear of the train, they couldn’t hear the engine’s great clanking, hissing noises, but the occasional puff of steam floated by the window. Sophie wondered what it would be like to sit in the second or third classes, where windowpanes were not considered a necessity and one could feel the rush of the wind. Only the sway of the carriage and the evidence of her own eyes gave any indication that they traveled at such great speeds; Sophie hardly believed such marvels existed.
“I understand the Nelsons invited the Dosetts to stay as well,” said Mama with an arched brow pointed at Sophie.
Papa gave an appreciative nod. “The eldest stands to inherit a pretty property with a sizable income, and from what I have heard, the second is rumored to be in line to inherit from a distant cousin. Though the former is a better choice, either of them would be a fine prospect.”
Sophie hid her shudder. Fine prospects indeed, if “fine” meant a husband who spoke little sense, prized handsome horseflesh above all else, and was bound to gamble and drink their fortune into nothing. Fates protect her from such fine prospects.
“And the Nelson heir